


The Hunter

by medvetis



Series: Abomination [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Cursed, Gen, Implied Sexual Abuse, Origin Story, Redemption, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medvetis/pseuds/medvetis
Summary: Emeric Jaegar just wants to make a name for himself. In a small town in Germany, there aren't many opportunities for it--until the whispers of the return of the Monster of Morbach. Armed with a rifle and determination, Emeric soon finds that you don't hunt a monster like that. It hunts you.





	1. The Monster of Morbach

_Morbach, Germany, 1864_

Emeric Jaegar had lots of dreams as a child.

Dreams of becoming a famous soldier, fighting glorious battles for his country and making his war-scarred father proud. Dreams of sailing the rivers up and down the Palatinate forest until he found where his mother had gone missing to, being welcomed into her arms when he finally freed her from wherever she must be held. Dreams of climbing the mountains that misted in the distance, standing on top of the snow-covered Alps and calling out to the gods to notice him. Dreams of tracking wild boar through the forest, returning home laden with pelts and meat for the village to live up to his father’s surname, crowned with a laurel of antlers and lily petals.

Dreams of being anywhere but Morbach.

But, as his father was so keen to remind him, he wasn’t a child any longer.

Emeric shouldered a bag full of supplies, shifted the hunting rifle across his arm, and turned his back on the village. There were no wars to be fought right now, there was no glory to be had—not here, but in the arms of the deep forest?

There was always the Morbach Monster.

He walked into the shadow of the arching beech trees, taking in the deep breath of freedom when he finally was beyond the village limits. There were so many legends surrounding the Morbach Monster, the deserter from the Napoleonic wars who had been cursed, becoming a twisted man, an evil creature—a werewolf. He had grown up hearing stories about it, and like most of the rest of the town, it was little more then a campfire legend.

Until they started finding their livestock ripped apart every morning, and children began to go missing from their cradles. Rumors began to whisper again, of curses and deserters, of men driven mad with hate and bloodlust. Emeric, too many drinks in with the other young men of the village, stood on a table and declared he would find out what was doing this, and he would stop it.

They had laughed at him.

He pressed his lips into a thin line as he walked, hearing the ringing in his ears rather than the high whistle of birdsong, the crunch of his boots in the underbrush, the snort of a stag as it bounded away from him and into the deeper shadows. They had laughed at him, his father had scoffed and called him a petulant child, and Frieda had given him such a frown that it made his heart ache. He told her he would bring her back the beast’s head. She said she wanted a ring and a homestead, not some bloody trophy. He said he was a hunter, and he could prove it. She said he was an ass.

She cried when he left.

Emeric walked until it got too dark to see. He followed game trails, followed the winding path of the river, then made camp beside the water. He lit a fire, laid the gun across his knees, and wondered where the hell he was going. How did one track a monster? He nodded off against a smooth sandstone rock, his face bathed in the light of the moon through the leaves.

As it turned out, one did not track a monster. The monster tracked him.

Emeric woke with the drowsy sense that not only had time passed, but distance. His head lolled to one side, and he was aware first of the deep ache in his shoulders, and secondly of the cause—his arms pulled taunt above his head, wrists bound together and hooked over a few thick branches. His legs kicked convulsively, losing his purchase on the ground just long enough for him to swing backwards and smack his spine against the tree trunk. His bare toes scrambled to find stability on the old roots again, and when he took a deep breath to clear his spinning head, he saw most of his belongings on the ground nearby—everything he had on him, aside from his pants, which happened to be the only article of clothing left on his body.

“What the hell,” he croaked, twisting at the ropes again, kicking at the empty air. All around him he could see nothing but trees, trees old and bent, trees cracked and broken and half-decayed into the dirt, trees so thick in the canopy he couldn’t tell if it was day or night. He couldn’t hear the river any longer, nor could he hear birdsong, insects, or anything other than his own pant of breath.

All the more reason why his heart jumped into his throat when he turned his head and saw the Monster of Morbach watching him with an amused expression.

As monsters went, Emeric wouldn’t have given him more than a second glance. He had the bearing of a soldier, or a hunter, shoulders broad and clothing tattered, but with folded arms that looked as if they could snap a boar’s neck with one twist. His eyes were like shadowed embers, and his long hair was tangled with leaves and feathers, but despite his looming presence and twisted smirk, he looked…familiar.

“Who are you?” Emeric demanded, surprised at the strength of his own voice as he dangled from the tree.

“The Monster of Morbach,” he chuckled, his voice like the rumble of thunder before the storm. “You came looking for me, didn’t you? After boasting in the tavern how you, mighty hunter, would bring the town my head.” He tilted his chin derisively, then took a step forward into the light, so close that Emeric could feel the heat from his breath. “Here is my head.”

There it was, and if he looked through the mat of hair and the glowing eyes, he could swear he could see the bartender, leaning on the old wood counter and tapping kegs wordlessly for the rowdy crew of village boys. Emeric swallowed a threatening whimper, and he curled his hands around the ropes. He tightened his stomach, bringing his legs to his chest before kicking out sharply at the beast with both heels.

The Monster never moved. Emeric’s feet connected squarely with his stomach, and it was like kicking a brick wall. The boy cried out in pain, and he felt a trickle of blood from where the rope began to cut into his wrists.

“What is my name, _j_ _äger_? I have served you pints since you could see over the counter. What is my name?“ the creature demanded, taking hold of Emeric’s jaw and curling his claws into his cheek.

Emeric’s brain buzzed, and he felt like the mists had rolled down from the mountain and curled around his head. Blood seeped down his cheek. His name. What was his _name_? “ _Barmann_ ,“ he answered meekly.

A fist connected with his stomach, and he felt as if he had been kicked by a horse. He gasped for air, and a second hit had a rib cracking and a wail of pain parting his lips. “Wait—wait,“ he begged when he saw the monster draw back his arm again. Emeric’s breath rattled. "Th-thomas. Thomas Schwytzer.“

"I think I rather liked _barmann_ better,“ he chuckled, patting Emeric’s cheek roughly. "Thomas Johannes Baptist Schwytzer. You are correct. And do you know what that means for you?“

Emeric shook his head, feeling tears mix with the blood on his face.

Thomas leaned closer to him, his breath hot against the boy’s ear. "I am tired of being the only cursed one in this forest. You want to impress your Frieda, your friends, your father? When you return home, they will cow before you.“

Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, and all around him the trees seemed to tremble with the sound of his screams.


	2. Five Years Later

_Abbey of Saint Joseph de Clairval, Dijon, France, 1869_

Eve loved nothing more than to stand in the day’s first light from just outside of the Abbey, leaning against the old stone walls still cool from the long night. She laced her fingers around a mug of tea, the steam curling around her chin like the caress of a lover. Like the caress of the one she had left sleeping on his bunk on the monastery, his arms around her pillow and his breathing soft.

She could stay in this place forever.

And it seemed like eternity was something granted to her. She had been here for twenty-three years now, and in that time she hadn’t aged, hadn’t gotten ill, and her wounds had always healed even without the brothers’ tender care. They had forgiven her. They had named her. And for twenty-three years, she was relishing the peaceful and simple life the sun-warmed walls gave.

She was relishing each dawn, each dusk, each meal, and each bubble of easy laughter. As long as it would last, she would hold it dear.

And with this dawn, the sky painted red and gold, everything changed abruptly. 

From the edge of the woods stumbled something that could have been man or beast, but it was so covered with blood she could hardly discern. It took two steps forward into the lancing beams breaking the horizon, then collapsed.

Eve dropped her mug. By the time she fell to her knees beside the bloody thing, she was almost certain that it was a young man. His dark hair was grown too long, tangled with leaves and matted into such knots she wondered how he could stand to turn his head. He had a youthful face scored with bruises and a broken nose, and while both of his eyes were closed, one was very clearly swollen shut. She rolled him carefully onto his back, finding him not only nude, but looking as if he had crawled through a pit of knives.

And, from the bite marks, possibly a pack of wolves.

Her hands dropped to his chest, amazed to still feel a heartbeat and breath there. For now. Steeling herself, she slid her arms beneath his body, and stood with effort. He was too thin, but still weighed enough for her to do little more than stumble back towards the monastery. She could hear the bell tolling, waking the rest of the brothers and calling them to morning prayer.

“Brother Henri!“ She hoped her voice could be heard over the tolling of the bell, standing in front of the old wooden door and calling up to the wall. “Open the gate!“

“Eve, what is this?“ As soon as she stumbled through the gate, Henri took the young man from her arms. “Run ahead and tell them to get water boiling. Where did you find him?“

“At the edge of the woods.“

“He must have been trying to make it here for sanctuary, the poor child.“ Henri walked briskly, his broad shoulders supporting the unconscious young man with far more ease than Eve. “If he lives, I imagine he’ll have a good story to tell us.“

Hot water and soft cloths went a long way in cleaning the dirt and the wounds. Eve sat at the boy’s head, washing his hair and brushing out the knots while the brothers tended to the rest of his body. Bruises marked around his hips and up his sides, but most of the cuts were superficial, and even the bite marks seemed to be possessive more than aggressive. Painful, but shallow, all aside from a deep score across his chest that looked like the mark of claws, the bone of his ribs winking through the seeping wounds.

“Do you think he was attacked by an animal?“ Eve asked, raking her fingers along his scalp to make sure there were no wounds hiding there. “What kind of creature could do this?“

Father René sat on a stool beside her, crossing himself before brushing his hand down the boy’s face. He had come to the Abbey only a few years ago, but he had taken to Eve more quickly than anyone else, a calm and unfearing presence. “The kind of creature that has not been seen in these parts for many years, I think.“ He took out his rosary, then waved to the other men in the room. “There is nothing more that can be done for his wounds for now. Let him sleep, and go to your morning prayers. I will stay here with Eve, and with him.“

“What is it, Father?“ Eve asked, once the others had left.

René set the rosary down on the stranger’s stomach, and immediately the skin turned red, and the boy jerked, waking with a start and a gasp of breath.

“A curse,“ René answered, pulling back the rosary and tucking it into his sleeve. “Easy, child. You are in a safe place.“

Eve cradled his head as he thrashed a moment, throwing up his arms to defend himself from an unseen attack. When his one open eye found focus on the wooden beams, and then the faces of his two protectors, he sank back onto the bed again. “Where am I?“ he rasped. Blood trickled over his lower lip. He licked it away.

“You are at the Abbey of Saint Joseph de Clairval,“ René answered calmly. “And you are safe. What is your name?“

“Emeric. Emeric Jaegar.“

“Prussian, then,“ René noted casually. “You’re a good measure from home. How did you get here?“

“Morbach,“ he whispered, as if that were an answer. His head sank back into Eve’s hands again, and her fingers soothed along his scalp. “Running. I—“

“The Monster of Morbach,“ René ventured, nodding his understanding. “That would explain a lot.“

“Care to enlighten me, Father?“ Eve asked. Emeric trembled beneath her, his eyes closed again, halfway between dreams and pain.

“The Monster of Morbach is a cursed man, a werewolf.“

“What’s a werewolf?“

“Well, the curse is varied, but it is a man who cannot overcome his primal urges. He becomes half beast. Mad, lustful, bloodthirsty, and oftentimes imbued with physical prowess or even bestial vestiges.“

“He doesn’t look much like he has physical prowess right now,“ Eve whispered, looking down to Emeric again. “You think he is the Monster of Morbach?“

“No, my child. Not at all.“ René pulled at the corner of Emeric’s lip, drawing it back enough to show elongated canine teeth. “But I think the Monster may have made him a companion.“

“And then did this to him?“

“Curses like this are not given to men who are gentle and kind,“ he said quietly. He let go of Emeric’s mouth, looking back down to the bruises and scars on his body. “If the curse was passed on though, his body will heal itself. He will live—perhaps as long as you appear to be living, my daughter.  But eventually the curse will consume his mind, and he will become like the Monster of Morbach, and he will pass it on to someone else as well.“

“But we can stop it, right?“

René shrugged. “Most would say the only way to stop a curse like this is to kill the source. Are you prepared to do that, Eve? You are more capable than most.“ He nodded to her gloved hands, still soothing the frown from between Emeric’s eyes with her gentle fingers. “It would be quick and painless. You could take away his suffering.“

“If you are testing me, Father, I don’t think it’s funny.“

René smiled, and squeezed her arm. “There are other ways to deal with curses like this, but know that he cannot be cured. We can keep the curse at bay, keep it from consuming him, but it is something that will have to be continued and maintained for the rest of his life. And I will not be around long enough to see that through, but you may be. Are you prepared to take on the responsibility of this young man’s life? And, for that matter, the lives of those around him, should the curse take over?“

“I would rather be responsible for his well-being than for his death,“ Eve said firmly.

“That is the answer I had hoped for.“ He stood at last, and kissed the top of her head. “Stay with him. I will bring you breakfast, and together we will work to hold this curse at bay.“

The Abbey bell rang out at dusk with its ball wrapped in velvet to mute the sound, the dulcet tones echoing across the tops of the trees. The sound was enough to pull Emeric from his sleep, and for once he woke without the deep ache in his bones that had been there for five years. He turned onto his side, feeling the softness of a bed against his cheek and the weight of a woolen blanket on top of him. He didn’t open his eyes, just listening. The crackle of a fire, the sound of voices talking in low tones, the smell of freshly baked bread and some sort of hearty broth. If he kept his eyes closed long enough, he was home again, his mother by the hearth while he burned through a childhood fever, ready for it to be soothed away by her loving hands.

“Whenever you’re ready to open your eyes, I have food for you.“

That voice was definitely not his mother’s, but it was calming nonetheless. He rubbed at his face with one hand, feeling the bump where his nose had been broken, but the swelling was gone from there, and from over his eye. The only pain he still felt at all was from the marks on his chest, but those had at least sealed.

He opened his eyes before he could see Thomas looming behind his closed lids.

“How are you feeling?“ the woman asked, offering him both a smile and a steaming bowl. His heart squeezed, and he pulled back from her, every instinct screaming for him to run. He felt the hair along the back of his neck prickle, and if he looked at her long enough he could see not only her mismatched eyes, the scars on the side of her head, but a single feathered wing arching out from her back.

“Where am I?“ he gasped, sitting up and pressing his back to the wall.

“Amongst friends,“ René called from a nearby chair, reading by the light of the hearth. “She will not harm you, no more than I will. I daresay that we are the only ones who would help you, too. After all, it could be argued that you are the child and heir to the Monster of Morbach.“ René looked over the top of his book. “So I wouldn’t be looking at Eve as if _she_ were the devil. She vouched for trying to save you.“

“Does that mean—is he dead?“ Emeric asked, taking the bowl at last, though his hands were shaking.

“Is who dead?“ Eve crouched in front of him, looking over his wounds.

“Thomas. The—the Monster. He was following me. You killed him then?“

Eve looked back to René, who closed his book abruptly. “I am going to be sure the gate is latched. Stay with him tonight, my daughter. You may be the only one that can truly protect him.“


	3. Coming Home

“What can you tell us about the Monster?“ Eve asked.

The sunlight lanced red beams though the windows with the setting sun, and the Brothers had all locked and secured every gate under René’s supervision. He had added iron bars across the usual latches, sprinkling them with holy water and reciting prayers in front of each gate. The other monks watched him warily, unused to seeing their Father so concerned, or acting so oddly. Especially without telling anyone else the reason for the precautions.

“His name is Thomas,“ Emeric said quietly, sitting up in bed and hugging his knees to his chest. “Or, was, I guess. He’s a—he said he was a werewolf, he’s cursed. But I don’t know. I thought werewolves transformed by the moon or something. He’s just…he’s like that all the time. Something between a beast and a man.“

“There are a lot of different curses,“ René greeted, walking in bearing a tray of food for all three of them. “Were you able to rest, Emeric?“

“Not really. I shouldn’t stay here. He’ll be coming for me.“ Emeric touched the healing wound on his chest, still able to feel Thomas’ claws there. More, he could feel his presence like a shadow over him. Every morning, every night, every waking moment, whether he was near to him or not, Emeric could feel him. It was a dread that seeped into his very bones, inescapable and eternal. Hungry, lustful, angry, and obsessive. “He won’t let me be free.“

“No, I imagine he will not,“ René agreed, handing him a bowl of stew. “So what are you willing to do to be free of him?“

“Anything.“ He wished his voice wasn’t so pitiful. He swallowed his emotions, drawing the spoon to his mouth instead. “But he cannot be killed.“

“You are a hunter, are you not?“ the Father challenged. “What have you hunted in the past?“

Emeric frowned at the accusation, and ate for a moment to buy himself time. “Deer, boar, fox, lynx, and rabbits. Nothing like—nothing like him.“

“And did you use the same tools for a boar as you did for the hare?“

“No, of course not.“

René nodded solemnly. “That is your problem. You do not have the right tools to take on this Monster.“ He looked over to Eve with a smile. “If you don’t think you have the fortitude to take him down, my daughter here is equipped to deal with any comers. Including you, should the wolf get the better of you, once Thomas is dead.“

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not a wolf.“

René took hold of his chin before he could react, and Emeric froze. “No? He cursed you, too, and you know this.“ He pulled up Emeric’s lip, exposing his sharp canines again. “The wolf in you is quiet, only because Thomas’ is so loud. But without him, you will have to be stronger. I can help you with that as well. Do you want to be a real hunter, my son? Do you want to keep the curse at bay, and rid the world of all of its evils?“

Emeric could taste the blood of Morbach on his exposed teeth. He could taste his father’s blood first, ripped apart under the moonlight and under Thomas’ eager supervision. Then, the blood of the other boys in town, the ones that could not remember the name of the bartender that served them every night. And then Frieda, who cried. Emeric sobbed when he shot her. He sobbed when he pulled her heart from her chest and cradled it in her hands. He cried when Thomas ate it.

“I want to do it,“ Emeric whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to be a monster.“

“Father,“ Eve interrupted quietly, “aren’t you asking a lot of him?“

“I only ask of him what God asks of all of us. Some are destined to carry heavier burdens than others. You and I, and him, we are among them.“ René set aside his plate and glass. “I will make you a hunter, Emeric. I can make you a hunter the likes of which the world has not had before. Your curse can be your blessing, in the end. If you are good enough to stay strong, to stay firm, and to obey the word of God.“ He opened a trunk, pulling out a silver knife, the hilt made of bone and carved with a likeness of Christ on the cross. “This was made with the bone of a martyr, and when wielded by those worthy, can kill any cursed creature.“

Emeric could hear his father’s voice in his head. He was not worthy of anything. Not worthy of his mother staying around, not worthy of glorious battle, not worthy of slaying monsters. He was not worthy of love.

But, if there was no one left to love him, there was no one left to think him unworthy, either.

He took the knife cautiously, half-expecting the hilt to burn his palm. When he felt nothing but cool bone and the weight of the blade, he looked back to up to René. “I will kill him. But how do I stop from becoming a monster like him?“

“Eve and I shall be concocting a drink for you. It will keep the wolf at bay for a time, but it must be taken every month at the new moon, or else you may find your teeth and your hunger sharper. But none of that will make a difference until you take care of the Monster.“

Emeric gripped the knife tighter, and for once it felt as if the shadow looming over him took a step back. The last light of the dusk painted the floor, and in it he could see the dust swirl around their feet. “He’ll be out tonight. He likes to work at night.“

“The older monsters like that become, the more the good light of God burns them,“  René noted solemnly.

Eve frowned, but said nothing. Emeric hardly noticed her, his eyes still on the glint of the knife. He could do this. He could become what he always wanted to be—a hunter, proud, famous, respected, even revered. He could kill the Monster of Morbach and be freed from his claws. He could redeem himself. He could be—

“Father, he is just a child,“ Eve protested. “Let me go out with him, at least.“

“My daughter, each must atone for their own sins. At least, those that still have souls.“

Eve stood abruptly. “You cannot in the same breath say that I am responsible for him and his curse, and then tell me that I cannot help protect him.“

But Emeric was already walking out the door, leaving their arguement behind. Their voices echoed dully down the hall, and he had the vague sense of _wrongness_ that came in the reverberations. But he felt different with each step. He felt holy. Justified. Redeemed. Immortal. Pure. He gripped the knife so tightly that the edges of the carved cross bit into his palm, then sliced it open, trickling his own blood down the blade as if to whet its appetite. As he stepped outside, the dusk had faded to purple, its brilliant colors dissolving as he looked straight above, the first twinkle of stars blinking onto the velvet dark. The curve of the moon drifted behind a whisper of cloud like the winking eye of God.

He didn’t realize he was out of the protection of the Abbey walls until he heard Thomas’ voice.

“Did you finally decide to stop fighting me, _h_ _ü_ _ndchen_? Or have you led me to these meek Brothers as a way to ask my forgiveness?“

“I do not need to ask for your forgiveness and mercy any longer,“ Emeric snapped, surprised at his own voice, and the feel of his fangs against his tongue. “You are not my master.“

Thomas’ laugh made the wounds on his chest throb. “Did they make you drink holy water, or sacramental wine?“ He stepped forward, taking a handful of Emeric’s hair without ceremony, his claws breaking open his scalp. “You’re drunk on words, _h_ _ü_ _ndchen_.“

Emeric tilted his head to one side to lessen the pressure on his scalp. He stared into Thomas’ eyes for a long moment, and in that breath of time, he watched the Monster’s expression change. He knew, he _knew_ that something had changed, and before he could react to to get Emeric on his knees once more, the carved bone handle of the knife protruded from his throat. Thomas’ grip slipped from his protege, and his hands clawed at the air as he stumbled backwards. It seemed an eternity he wavered under the moonlight, his breath gurgling, the knife quivering, and his hands flexing as they flickered between human and bestial.

At last, he fell.

Emeric heard the toll of the Abbey bell, muted and seeming so distant. He ran his tongue over his sharpened teeth. He was on his knees in front of Thomas, using the knife to saw his head completely from his body. His severed neck spurted blood. It splashed on his face. He licked it away. With the cross on the hilt cutting into his hand, he removed Thomas’ hands, his heart, and his genitals. He threw them into the river. His fingertips itched. He picked up the Monster’s severed head, and in the rosy light of dawn, he walked back to the Abbey, wondering where the night had gone.

From the Abbey wall, René and Eve watched him approach. The Father’s smile was calm and proud, and when Emeric held up the Monster’s head, he felt as if, at last, he had come home.


End file.
